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Oatmeal chocolate chip pecan praline cookies

Where I’m from, the kids used to run around the neighborhood like wild things. We’d chart the in-between places, behind garages alongside hedges, in parking lots and alleys. We played tag and hide and seek, we ran around with bows and arrows made out of sticks and string, and we never crossed the street. We played stickball and climbed trees and spied: we had secret hand signals and elaborate stories about the goings on of the neighborhood. At night we dared each other to run down to the next corner and touch the mailbox. It was a small town and when we were older we’d walk the streets endlessly, night and day, looking for anyone we knew. When somebody learned to drive we’d all pile in the car and drive around the streets slowly, looking for anyone we knew or we’d drive right out of town and feel like we were free, like we were flying. We’d go to parties and drink sweet sickening drinks and dance to the Beastie Boys and the Violent Femmes. In the summer we’d drive to the shore and sneak over tall walls onto private beaches, and swim in the ocean at night. It was all remarkably uneventful, though it felt full of meaning and drama at the time.

I like songs about home, about where people are from and when they’re from. Like Mos Def’s Habitat.

When I think of home, my remembrance of my beginning
Laundromat helping ma dukes fold the bed linen
Chillin in front my building with my brother and them
Spending nights in Bushwick with my cousins and them
Wise town and Beat Street, federal relief
Slowly melting in the morning grits we used to eat
Sticking to your teeth and teeth is hard to keep
With every flavor Now & Later only a dime apiece
Old timers on the bench playing cards and thangs
Telling tales about they used to be involved in things
Start to drinking, talking loud, cussing up and showing out
On the phone, call the cops, pick’em up, move’em out
And it’s all too common to start wildin
I’m a pirate on an island seeking treasure known as silence
And it’s hard to find

Or Dungeon Family’s White Gutz

Sitting on 400 wides that’s what they love
Incense swingin from the mirror that’s what they love
Six course licked with the glaze that’s what they love
drive with the dealership tag that’s what they love
hairbone strayed on my shoulder that’s what they love
the smell of new leather in the cold that’s what they love
strawhat V-neck t’s that what they love
moonroof open blowing smoke that’s what they love
Romeo cologne every week that’s what they love
that’s what they love

Or K’naan’s My Old Home

My old home smelled of good birth
Boiled red beans, kernel oil and hand me down poetry
It’s brick white-washed walls widowed by first paint
The tin roof top humming songs of promise while time is
Locked into demonic rhythm with the leaves
The trees had to win
Hugging them, loving them a torturous love
Buggin’ when
It was over and done
The round cemented pot kept the rain drops cool
Neighbors and dwellers spatter in the pool
Kids playin football with his hand and sock
We had what we got, and it wasn’t a lot

So the subject of today’s Sunday Interactive Playlist is Where I’m From. It’s a song about the place and time that made you. The song doesn’t have to be about where you’re from, or even where the singer is from, just a song about somebody’s home.

Oatmeal chocolate chip pecan praline cookies

Two recipes in a row with pecan praline in them? Yes, indeed. I had some leftover, and I thought it would be good with chocolate chips. So I actually made even more, because it’s so completely easy to make. And then I combined it with oats and put it in cookies. Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are our natural anti-depressant, here at The Ordinary, and it’s been a long, cold winter!

Butter a small baking tray. Mix together the sugar, water and lemon juice in a medium-sized saucepan. Put it on medium-low heat, and warm until the sugar dissolves. Turn up the heat and cook for about ten to fifteen minutes, until the mixture is golden brown. Don’t stir at all, but you can dip a brush in warm water and brush down the sides of the pan. When it’s golden brown, take it off the heat and stir in the nuts. Spread in a thin layer on the buttered baking sheet. Leave in a cool place to set. Break into pieces with your fingers, or smash with the bottom of a glass or mug.

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The Members – The Sound Of The Suburbs. Some truth in this, as a picture of where we grew up – though London suburbs are probably a bit different from the USA stereotype, if “American Beauty” and “The Wonder Years” are anything to go by…